The Kids Are Alright
by mebh
Summary: A triptych looking at Roy and Riza's family and the many - questionable - joys of having kids. Now complete with part 3, Seven Days.
1. Part 1: Batata

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist.

_Notes: _This is the first of 3 stories focussing on Roy and Riza's relationship with their kids as featured in the oneshot, Skirmish. It's based on a very funny article I read a while back. I've classed it as T here for the language and implied language so be aware those of the faint hearted!

Anyway - enjoy and thanks for reading!

ps - for those in the know, part two deals with _that_ mustache.

pps - please check out my profile for links to two amazing pieces of art illustrating scenes from **Quiet Crown**. Even if you're not engaging with the fic, the artwork by **Fudfoodle **and **hand-made-city** is really very excellent and worth your time.

* * *

There is nothing in the world like settling down with a good book on a miserable, gale swept night, Roy decided. With a long groan, he stretched against the soft, worn leather of the sofa and smiled to himself as the fire crackled satisfyingly in the hearth. Upstairs Riza was putting their daughter to bed, pulling the soft blankets up to the girl's chubby, dimpled chin and singing to her in the timid, sweet tone she had cultivated since their marriage. On the rare occasions when he caught her, she would stop suddenly, embarrassment rushing to her cheeks. He liked it, worshipped it in fact: the tender pact between his wife and daughter, the mystery of the bedtime ceremony open only to the women in his family. He welcomed the exclusion with good grace, and looked forward to those fleeting moments when he would hear Riza's soft voice drift above the quiet noises of a settling house.

He was distracted from his thoughts by the telltale, haphazard footsteps of his son marching into the lounge. For all his six years, Olly Mustang hadn't quite mastered the art of entering a room delicately. When he came, quietude went.

When he spotted his father, relaxed and quietly ensconced in his reading, the boy bounded across the room and leapt onto the sofa with a brazen, "Yeah!"

Roy issued a small cry and reached for his brandy perched on the arm of the couch (a habit Riza often scolded him for. The sheer liability of having a six year old should have been enough to caution him, she would say.)

Olly pushed himself back against Roy's side and pulled a dog-eared comic from the waistband of his pyjamas. Heaving out a sigh characteristic of an eighty year old man, he started poring over the pictures with apparent concentration: a perfect miniature of his father.

Roy shrugged, finished his brandy in one gulp to prevent any spillage and stretched his arm around his son before resuming his reading. He managed to read all of two words – _very plump –_ before Olly shifted and turned his dark eyes upwards.

"Dad?" His voice carried more conspiracy than all the briefcases of all the spies in all the novels in all the world.

Roy didn't look up from his book as he answered. "Yeap?"

"Is there a worser swear word than fuck?"

Roy was glad he finished his brandy. If he hadn't it definitely would have ended up watering the carpet. At Olly's shock utterance, he jumped half a foot off the seat.

"Olly!" He yelped, then hushed himself when he realised that his wife was in danger of hearing them. "Where did you learn that word?"

Olly sighed. "That's an elephant."

"Irrelevant..." Roy murmured his correction, mustering himself for another one of _those_ conversations where his son ran circles round him while he tried to recover from the first thirty seconds. "Olly, you can't use words like that. Who taught you-"

"Well is there?" The boy interrupted boldly, seemingly growing impatient with Roy's _irrelevant_ investigation.

Roy started to rack his brains in an attempt to figure out who could have been the perpetrator of the heinous crime of teaching his son such a foul word. His money rested on Havoc. There was that day he looked after Olly during Riza's check-up...

"Da-a-a-a-d..." The boy whined eagerly. "Is there a worser word?"

Roy considered his options and decided that as long as Olly thought the 'f-word' was the worst word in the Amestrian language he would steer well clear of it – hopefully.

"No. There is no worse word. That is the worst word ever."

Olly pursed his lips and cocked his head at Roy. "You're lying."

With that, he shimmied forward on the seat and slipped off it clumsily. He exited the lounge without so much as a 'good night.'

Roy blinked after him, totally flabbergasted. Not wanting, or able perhaps, to return to his reading, he switched off the lamp, extinguished the fire and made his way upstairs to bed. The Flame Alchemist would grill Havoc in the morning – so to speak.

* * *

The following night, Roy busied himself at his desk reading over a report due at the council first thing in the morning. Riza had popped over to Gracia's with Lia for a late tea and Roy had opted to stay home, relishing the chance to have the house to himself. As much as he loved his family, there were times when he needed to have some 'Roy time.' His son immediately threw his head up and whinged until he was allowed to stay home too. He said he wanted some 'manly time' with his father but Roy knew better than to believe him.

"Dad." A raspy voice sounded behind him.

Roy stiffened for a moment then continued checking over the document. "Yes, Oliver?"

"You're the best Dad ever, out of all the Dads in the whole of Amestris and the world and all the oceans, lakes and seas!"

Roy turned a suspicious eye over his shoulder and seeing the earnest, bright face of his first born, felt a little guilty for presuming the boy had ulterior motives. He smiled widely. "And you're the best son, better than every other boy that's ever been and ever will be."

"There's a worser swear word than fuck, isn't there?" The child beamed.

Roy's face dropped momentarily before a badness took him and he responded with a magical, gloating, fatherly twinkle in his eye. "Yes, there is!"

Olly grinned with satisfaction, not yet beaten, and stepped forward with narrowed eyes. "What is it?"

"It's c-" Roy shirked, horrified by how close he had come to sharing the worst word in the Amestrian language with a child of six. "Uh...I..."

Olly took another step closer and rested his small hands on Roy's thigh. He looked up with dangerous eyes. "Tell me."

"No." Roy said indignantly, suddenly feeling walled-in and claustrophobic. Surely this could not be a child standing so determinedly before him. A changeling perhaps...

Olly jumped up and down on the spot. "Just tell me Dad. I swear I won't repeat it. It's just for me, just so I know. I just need to know it and I _swear_ I won't use it on anyone. Tell me. Please."

If knowledge was power, Olly definitely had the makings of a future Fuhrer. It was frankly quite terrifying.

Roy glanced down at his son, then away to the door uncomfortably. His hands grew clammy and he struggled to think of a way out of his fix. Tiny, plump fingers drummed on the top of his thigh, counting out the seconds while he deliberated, like an executioner readying the axe to fall on its victim.

"You won't tell Mummy we had this chat?" Roy asked quietly, his eyes darting back to the door.

Olly gasped with excitement and shook his head violently.

Roy stared down at his son, feeling a bead of sweat run the length of his back. A long silence followed.

"No." He said finally. "I can't. She'll kill me. Definitely this time."

"Tell me."

"No."

"Yes."

"No!"

"Yes! Yes!" Olly took a deep breath and drew out the next word for three or four seconds. "Yes!"

"No. I can't Olly. Mummy will shoot me dead."

"Well then how come you almost told me?"

"Because I'm an irresponsible father! I was swept up in the magic of the moment!" Roy practically squealed, backing against the hard wood of the chair.

"You're unfair. You're a lousy Dad who almost says cool stuff and then doesn't say cool stuff at all. You should have definitely told me because now I'm a disappointed boy and I'll turn to drink and blame my dad and be all hairy and homeless and steal from bins..."

As Olly rambled on, Roy desperately searched the room for some way out of his predicament. His eyes landed on his finest idea in years: the book on Ishballan Agriculture he had been using to compile his report. 'Perfect,' he thought.

"Okay, okay..." Roy said, throwing his hands up in surrender.

Olly quieted and looked at his father with wide, expectant eyes.

"It's batata." Roy said conspiratorially so it didn't sound anything like its true meaning: the Ishballan word for potato.

Another long, tense silence followed where Olly didn't even bother to blink, lost as he was in his processing of the word.

"Batata?" He asked at last, his face souring.

Roy sat back, quite satisfied with himself. Olly may have been good, but Roy was the original master of manipulation; he couldn't be outfoxed.

"That's the worst swear word of all time." He said sagely. "But you must never, ever use it."

Olly turned his head to the side and contemplated what was said, his dark locks glinting with the light of the desk lamp.

"Batata?" He repeated, disappointment eating at his usually cocky countenance.

"Yeap: batata. That's it. There's nowhere left to climb after batata. It's the worst word in the whole world."

Olly scuffed his foot with raw agitation. He was not weathering the revelation very well.

Roy continued wisely, crossing his legs and leaning one arm back on the top of his chair. "You see, Olly? Sometimes the 'getting there' is better than the arriving, don't you think? The mystery is better than the finding out? Hmm?" Roy's face darkened as his son curled his lip in response. He grunted and returned to his work. "Anyway – don't tell Mum."

At that, a key sounded in the lock and the door pushed inwards as Riza entered with their sleeping daughter slouched against her hip.

"Mum!" Olly screamed and ran to her. He pointed an accusing finger at Roy. "Dad told me the worst swear word ever in the Amestrian language and I didn't even want to know or anything. It's batata! Batata!"

Riza fixed Roy with an unimpressed stare and pushed the door closed behind her. Roy managed to pull himself together enough to throw out a weak shrug before turning back to his work with a reddening face.

* * *

In the playground, a small fat boy slammed into Olly and sent them both crashing to the ground.

"Batata." Olly muttered darkly. Experimentally.

* * *

"I feel awful." Roy confessed to Riza in bed a few nights later. "It's embarrassing. I'd rather him swear like the Northern infantry than run about throwing out random Ishballan words for root vegetables."

Riza puffed out a hot breath of air and tangled her fingers in her husband's dark hair. "You need to revise. The potato is a tuber, not a root."

Roy pulled back his head to look at her, eager to make her understand his quandary. "I've tricked my own son, Ri. I'm going to have to tell him that batata isn't the worst swear word. I have to tell him what it actually is. Better he's accurate and savvy than some oddball cursing the other kids with the ingredients of a well made dauphinoise."

Riza turned amber eyes on her husband that made her feelings clear without an inch of uncertainty. "You will _not_ tell him, Roy."

Roy mumbled incoherently.

Riza sat up and looked at him squarely as she reached back and yanked off the lamp. Her stern face lingered in the darkness before him as his eyes adjusted to the loss of light.

"Okay." He said, pulling his wife closer to him and sighing heavily.

* * *

Roy was sitting in his office when there was a light knocking followed by Fuery pushing open the door. Olly strolled in under the Sergeant's arm, a cunning look shaping his dark features.

"Hi." He said.

"Hi." Roy replied, curious.

Silence filled the room for a long time and Fuery looked uncomfortable to the point of fainting. Something about Roy's sharp mouthed son set the young man on edge.

"So Mummy said she'll meet you outside in ten minutes." Olly said, playing distractedly with the quick of his thumb. His little satchel shifted on his narrow shoulder as he worked. "I'll see you down there, Daddy."

"Okay." Roy smiled weakly, wondering why the boy had bothered to walk the whole way up from the car just to say that much. Riza could have just phoned from the main switchboard. Something was awry; the tension of the room attested to that much at least.

"Okay." Olly chirped and moved towards the door. He paused under Fuery's arm and looked back over his shoulder at his father. "Oh," he said. "C**t."


	2. Part 2: Herr Lip

**Disclaimer: **I dinnae own it.

Part deux. I've obviously tinkered with the time line a little to account for kids + moustache, so let's disclaim that too. Think of this more as my trying to process the dainty wee black smudge seen in that wonderful photograph. Grumble.

For info, I've started a community called Superior Works in a bid to collect as much quality Mustang lit as I can. So please subscribe if you're interested. Similarly, suggestions welcomed.

I really want to direct people to check out the great story Paradigm Shift by Thousand Sunny Lyon too. Try to drop a review, because they're lovely wee things too behold and go a long way in making someone's day. It's a very deep and well written fic and well worth your attention.

Okey doke - tally ho!

* * *

Havoc resisted another stinging pang of longing for a cigarette. He pulled in a deep breath and stretched his long legs out in front of him, the action doing nothing to disrupt the small scratching noises of the boy sat drawing next to him. Surreptitiously, the lieutenant leant sideways to try to catch a glimpse of the sketch but as soon as he moved, the child shifted round and bent his small shoulders, obscuring his work.

Anticipating an over long meeting in preparation for his excursion north, Mustang had asked Havoc to look after his son until he was finished. Now sat in the main lobby of headquarters for over an hour, Havoc was beginning to wish he had prepared a lie like the others had.

He sighed. "I'm not allowed to see your drawing?"

Olly Mustang's shoulders rose and fell with his perfunctory response. "Nope."

Havoc puffed out his cheeks and crossed one ankle over the other. "Is it because it's really bad?"

The scribbling stopped. One dark eye turned on the lieutenant. "No."

Havoc rolled his eyes and sat up straighter before his face broke into a smile. "Well then why are you covering it up? Usually people only cover ugly things up."

"Is that why you cover your chin with that scruffy, fluffy hair? Because it's ugly? Is it an ugly chin?"

The scribbling continued.

Havoc's mouth fell open and another urge for a smoke gnawed at him. Feeling betrayed, he stared at the clock wondering just what was keeping Mustang. Although, he couldn't blame him for wanting to get away from the little brat for a while. With a shudder, Havoc imagined just how bad his commander must have been in his youth.

Still, the lieutenant refused to be bested by a six year old. He stretched out his arms with a long, casual groan then folded them behind his head. "No actually." He spoke through a happy sigh. "It's because I'm a man."

Olly's sketching slowed then stopped and Havoc could virtually see the cogs in his young head turning. Delicately, the boy placed his sketch pad and pencil beside him and turned to face the lieutenant. Havoc had to fight back some carnal instinct to swallow as dark, critical eyes appraised him. They roved over his gangly, long legs; his arms folded behind him and the cigarette pack poking out from his jacket before they landed on the rough goatee he was currently sporting.

The boy crossed his arms and cocked his head, a few black locks falling into his eyes. "You have a beard because you're a man or you're a man because you have a beard?"

Havoc tried to wrap his head around Olly's line of thought. "Eh... it's more like, I'm extra manly because I have a beard. Some less manly guys have bare, girly faces."

"Like Dad?"

"Yeah like – no!"

Olly propped his chin up on two fingers as he considered this new development in manliness. If he was going to be a proper big brother, tough guy and lady's man then he would have to investigate this matter further.

"But Dad doesn't even have one little teeny tiny bit of hair on his face. He only has one bit of 'unhead hair' way down-"

Havoc balked. "Bah! I don't need to know. How does a kid know that kind of thing any-"

Olly chuffed out a laugh. "Because dad _always_ forgets to lock the bathroom door so me and Lia have to teach him a lesson. He goes really, really red and his voice gets all squeaky and squawky like this: 'Oliver get out this instant! Give me back that towel! Riza! Riza!'" The boy sighed at the reminiscence. "Riza's my mum." He finished in that pedantic way children manage to state the obvious.

Havoc let his sharp blue eyes linger on Olly before he turned back to the clock, beginning to get uncomfortable with the drift of the conversation.

"So if you have _no_ beard whatsoever then you're a more girly kind of a man?" Olly asked, a worried sort of edge biting at his words.

"Eh... I guess. But it can be any sort of hair, like a moustache or sideburns or even chest hair counts."

"Noooooooooooo." Olly groaned and put his head in his hands. He looked up through his fingers in an alarmingly Mustang-like gesture. "Dad doesn't have _any_ chest hair! He's not hairy at all! He's like an egg or plastic spoon!"

Havoc snickered, forgetting for the moment that he was discussing the masculine attributes of his superior when distinctively sharp footsteps could be heard ringing down the corridor. There was no doubt who they belonged to.

"Olly..." Havoc said, worried all of a sudden.

Olly was still engaged in bemoaning his father's hairlessness. If people said he got his looks from his dad, then he probably got his follicles from him too. He was doomed to being a girly sort of man.

"_Olly..._Olly... hey kid!"

The boy blinked and stopped the minute, anxious tapping of his feet. "Huh?"

"Please don't tell your Dad we had this chat."

Olly composed himself in an instant, sensing the opportunity to capitalise on Havoc's worry like a shark senses blood. "What's in it for me?"

Havoc grumbled then leant forward, urgency shaping his tone as the footfalls grew louder. "I'll be your friend?"

"Try again."

"Tour of headquarters?"

That prompted a derisive snort.

"Give you a smoke?"

"Nope."

"Pictures of nice girls?"

"I'm six."

"Ah..." Havoc scratched his head. Mustang would round the corner in seconds.

Olly hummed then looked at Havoc as compassionately as he could, which wasn't very much. "Look guy... this is just plain embarrassing. I can't promise I won't tell but I'll try – how's that?"

Havoc didn't have a chance to reply as Mustang came into sight and strolled up to them looking harried and more than ready to go home.

He crossed his arms and regarded the two huddled conspiratorially together.

"Well, well. What have you two been discussing?"

Not for the first time that day, Havoc wished he had a response ready and waiting. Fortunately, Olly had enough of his father's artful scheming to carry them both.

"Girls." He said with a slight curl to his lip as he spotted Roy's hairless chin.

* * *

For what felt like the hundredth time, Roy glanced at the sour face of his son in the rear view mirror. The boy had been in a bad mood since they left headquarters. Usually on their drives he would chirp away in the back seat: running over his many adventures; firing out childish, hilarious thoughts and asking questions bold enough to make a soldier blush. Now though, he didn't even bother to work at his drawing. Rather, he sat with arms folded, occasionally casting a foul look at his father.

Roy spoke with his eyes still on the road. "Look Olly, I'm sorry the meeting ran over. I didn't think it would take as long as it did."

Olly sniffed and played with his hands.

"I'm not going to say sorry again, so you may as well cheer up."

"You said sorry for the _wrong_ thing."

"Well what am I _supposed _to be sorry for? It's not the vaccination thing again is it? I told you, it's Mummy who's in charge of all the healthy, safety stuff – whinge at her for once." Though Roy felt a bit guilty for trying to pass the buck, he did seem to receive an unfair portion of scrutiny from his son.

"Hair." Olly said simply and looked out the window wistfully.

Roy stole a moment to glance over his shoulder. "Hair?"

"Hair."

"Hair." Roy repeated. "Of course." He fought for an ounce of understanding of what his first born could possibly be talking about.

"It's very serious! You shouldn't have any more kids 'til you figure this out, Dad."

Now Roy was really curious, and knew of course, that somewhere at the centre of this recent episode, was Havoc.

"Olly, I'm tired, my head is melted, and I have to sit on a train for the better part of two days starting from tomorrow morning; can we please cut to the chase? Otherwise I'll be forced to drop you off with the tramps under the bridge."

"You always say that but never do it."

"I might surprise you some day."

"Yeah, you might grow some hair."

Roy quirked an eyebrow and spoke through gritted teeth. He had a sinking feeling that he knew what this was about. "I _have _hair, Oliver."

Olly mumbled something moodily.

"What was that?"

"_Head _hair, I said." Olly threw himself sideways on the seat in a rare act of true childishness. He may have been cheeky, bratty and manipulative but he was no tantrum thrower. Something must have really upset him.

"Hey-" Roy coaxed. "Well what kind of hair should I have?"

Olly sprang up to sitting again. "Manly, grown-up hair on your chin or lip or chest or legs or _anywhere_! Havoc said-" The child realised his small betrayal and clapped his soft hand over his mouth. He could see his father's eyes darken in the rear view mirror. 'That guy's _so_ dead,' he thought with more than a little guilty mirth.

"I have hair on my legs." Roy defended, remembering the day he caught his team (including Riza) betting on whether he could grow a moustache or not – a caveat, apparently – for becoming Fuhrer.

"Only about as much as a peach or a duckling or something fuzzy though. If that's the case, Granny Christmas has more hair than you!"

Roy would have laughed at that if he hadn't felt so wounded. His only son was casting doubt on his masculinity. "I can grow facial hair, Olly."

"Well why don't you? Everyone thinks you're a girly man, especially Havoc. Havoc has a beard that looks like this." Olly dangled his fingers from his chin in an imitation beard.

"I knew I should have locked you in the broom cupboard instead of leaving you with Havoc."

"Only so you could hide our dark family secret: the men who can't grow beards."

Roy turned the wheel more forcefully than he truly meant to, finally approaching their house.

"There is no dark family secret. I choose not to grow facial hair and I'm not a girly man." Roy didn't fully reflect on how ridiculous he sounded, especially in light of the whine that was now colouring his voice.

"Even Fuhrer Grumman has a big, big, big, _big_ moustache and he's barely manly at all. So you must be like, less manly than Mummy even."

The car stopped with a jolt as Roy's foot found the break a little more keenly than what was needed. He spun round in his seat, oblivious to the fact he had just lost a game of subtle, intricate connivance: Oliver Mustang _had_ to know if he would grow up to be a manly man or a girly man and there was only one way to find out.

"You want me to grow facial hair?" Roy asked challengingly.

Olly shrugged. "Sometimes we want what we can't have."

"Don't use Daddy's advice against him! That line only applies to ice-cream, brandy and sleepovers at Rosie Kirk's house."

Olly undid his seat-belt with an unimpressed flavour of nonchalance. "You should have let me stay over."

"She's seventeen."

Olly smiled whimsically. "I _know – _a-twit twoo!" He mimicked a wolf whistle. Roy forgot about that particularly bad hand-me-down; he would need to wean his son off doing that or Riza would have his head.

Roy pinched the bridge of his nose, reconsidering the 'tramps under the bridge' idea. "Can't you just believe me when I say I can grow facial hair?"

Olly scooted over on the seat and cast a sympathetic look back at his father. "Can't you just believe _me_ when I say Hayate ate all the cookies?"

Roy opened his own door and exited the car at the same time as his son. He saw Riza and Lia wave from the living room window. Pushing his son gently by the back in a perfect act of fatherly fondness, he grit out his response through a fake smile. "I'll believe it when I see it."

Olly replied through a similarly forced smile. "Exactly."

* * *

To say Riza missed her husband was something of an understatement. The kids had been great, keeping each other company and helping out where they could, but her empty bed was starting to eat at her.

Even Olly, who usually made a show of independence was clearly missing his father terribly, though he would never admit it. Riza would catch him looking at the calendar, counting out the days on his fingers and one morning she found him in their room dressed in Roy's military jacket. When she asked him what he was up to he told her he was looking for cash. She knew better of course.

As always, Lia missed Roy to the extent of silent tears when she was put to bed each night. Though the girl had inherited her mother's mannerisms, she was definitely a 'Daddy's Girl.' She worshipped her father, and missed playing the silly, obscure make-believe games he conjured up. One night she asked if her father was definitely coming back.

_'Of course he is, Li._ _Why would you ask that?'_

_'Elysia's didn't.'_

Riza's answer had been to climb into bed beside her daughter and sing 'Soldier, soldier' to her until she fell asleep. She hadn't realised she had fallen asleep herself until the following morning when Olly leapt into bed next to them.

On the day Roy was due back, she expected all kinds of colourful greetings but she did_ not_ expect to hear the horrified wails of her daughter as the door clicked shut.

Riza rushed into the house from the back porch, terrified for the moment that it wasn't Roy at all.

The woman darted past Olly who was standing in wonder by the door and put her hand on her heart at the sight of Lia cowering inconsolably against the armchair, her husband bent in front of her, his face obscured by the child's shaking head.

"Lia..." Roy half laughed, half gasped at his daughter's reaction but every time he tried to soothe her, she would scream even louder. "Lia baby."

The girl sprang back over the arm of the couch and ran clumsily to Riza, her face sodding wet and her breath coming in sharp distressed pants. She clutched at her mother's skirt, begging to be picked up.

Riza swept her up and sat her on one hip, half glancing at Roy before pushing a dark strand of hair from damp eyes. "Lia, what's the matter? Daddy's home."

The girl was starting to hyperventilate and fisted her small hands in Riza's shirt as she chanted, "No, no, no, no, no, no..."

Roy appeared beside them and placed a hand on Riza's shoulder, an action that prompted escalated terror from his daughter.

"What-" Riza began but was stopped in her tracks as she looked at her husband... and his upper lip... and the dark hair adorning it. "What, eh... what..." She sputtered. Lia lifted her head for a moment to check if the coast was clear and seeing her 'new dad' at such close proximity, indulged in even louder, more ferocious wailing.

"What's wrong with her?" Roy asked, panic clear in his voice. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Olly's diminutive figure ghost closer.

"She... you... what..." Riza didn't quite know what to do with herself. The moustache wasn't just totally incongruous with her husband's style, character and preference but was positively _villainous_. "What is _that_?" She asked with unintentional revulsion.

Roy looked surprised for a second before he raised a finger to touch lightly at his upper lip. "This?" He laughed in a kind of 'oh – is this what all the bother is about?' way. "It's just a bit of facial hair, Riza."

He leant forward as close as he could and tapped his daughter lightly on the cheek. The girl sobbed and slowly turned to look up. "It's just a moustache, Lia. It's Daddy. I've missed y-"

The scream that broke from the girl was enough to make a curious Hayate shoot through the kitchen and into the back garden. Olly had better positioned himself to see how things played out.

Riza turned her head away sharply, half deafened by the terrorised bawling of her daughter. The girl choked messily on her tears and started truly hyperventilating.

"Oh my god, I'm killing my daughter..." Roy said with wide, alarmed eyes.

Riza walked away from her husband, bouncing the girl up and down and rubbing her back. "Shave it."

Roy recoiled. "It's just a moustache."

"Shave it." Riza repeated with less patience.

Olly giggled darkly and Roy shot him a look. "Riza, she's being irrational and I-"

"Shave. It."

Olly stepped up and addressed his father wisely. "I think you should probably shave it off now, Dad. Lia's upset."

Roy made a noise of protest that sounded a little like a car engine starting up. "B-but Olly told me to!"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Roy realised how totally ludicrous his quest to appease his son's fears of effeminacy had been. His realisation wasn't quick enough to save him though. Riza turned with a still screeching Lia in her arms.

"And what about the time he told you you weren't sporty enough and you joined the boys for five-a-side football?"

Roy looked at Olly then at his feet. "I sprained my ankle."

"And the time he said Mr Mills from across the road built his son a tree house?"

Roy huffed, then huffed even louder when another chirrup of laughter sounded from his son. "It wasn't _that_ bad."

"Two of your fingernails fell out and you couldn't write for a month."

"And I still didn't even have a tree house..." Olly assisted in the tribunal.

Roy felt decidedly singled out, and having been backed into a corner was loathe to give up the fight. Hating the idea at first, he actually didn't mind the moustache that much. At the very least he could keep it until he returned to work, making sure Havoc lost some money in the years old bet.

"I-"

"Shave."

"But-"

"Now."

Roy stormed across the room and picked up his bag roughly. "I'm keeping it until Monday." He said petulantly and made his way upstairs. "First thing tomorrow morning I'm teaching my daughter a healthy sense of proportion!" He called back.

"If you can get close enough!" Riza returned and got back to the task of shushing Lia.

Olly decided there and then that he was willing to risk being a girly man if the scene he just witnessed was the result of facial hair. The incidence of repulsion in females to that of facial hair seemed to be high: an explanation perhaps for why his Dad often joked about how Havoc was hopeless at keeping girlfriends.

* * *

Roy sank back in his bath and allowed the steaming hot water to seep into every pore. All things considered, it had been a pretty lousy day. To top it all off, his daughter was terrified of him and he had overheard her refer to him as 'the daddy-man, hobo wizard'.

He closed his eyes and leant his head back against the cold enamel. He had started to drift off to sleep when a cool draft blew across him. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Riza had entered the bathroom and was kneeling beside him.

"You should really learn to lock that door." She said with a rueful grin.

Roy smiled back in response and threw an arm over the edge of the bath. "Care to join?"

"Can't leave the kids alone for too long. I saw Olly eyeing up the medicine cupboard. He's getting good at assembling the step ladder."

"Mmm."

Riza regarded her husband with her deep, clear eyes and tried her best to ignore the monstrosity that graced his top lip. She kissed him and shuffled round to the head of the bath.

"Head massage?" She asked.

Roy moaned by way of an answer and sat a little farther up in the bath to give her access. Closing his eyes again, he gave into the strong movement of her fingers against his scalp. He didn't notice when one hand left the task to reach for the razor.

"It's good to be-" He stopped dead as the razor slid across one side of the moustache.

There was silence for a long, long time.

"Ri-"

With another deft swipe, Riza completed her mission.

Placing the razor to the side, she ruffled her husband's wet hair and stood to leave.

Roy silently fumed at the ruse and had just about gathered himself in time to see the bathroom door click shut.

* * *

Later that night, husband and wife lay in bed together: a tangle of limbs, and mess of black and blonde hair.

"Did she fall asleep okay?" Riza asked, her breath carrying across Roy's breastbone as she spoke.

"Yeap."

"Aren't you happy you look like her Dad again and not some wayward pirate?"

Roy grumbled. "You tricked me."

Riza snuggled closer and ran her hand over his smooth chest, relishing the strong heartbeat held within. "Remember when I promised to always watch your back?"

"Mmm."

"Well saving you from stupid facial hair falls into that remit; consider it a bonus."

Roy sighed and kissed the crown of his wife's head. "And what about saving me from the evils of my own spawn?"

Riza gave the question a lot of thought before answering. "Can't help you there." She said simply, then kissed Roy in the dip between his lip and nose, held herself against him and drifted off to sleep with a smile on her face.

* * *

Thanks as always for reading folks. Friday! Yeo!


	3. Part 3: Seven Days

**Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist.**

Part third.

Yeeow! Aw, I'm quite sad to have finished this :( Tell you what, to help satiate my withdrawal symptoms from Olly and Lia, if anyone has any particular ideas in mind, drop me a line and I'll see what I can do with them. Until then, adieu little ones!

Hope you enjoyed and thanks for all the feedback :D

* * *

Bedlam, circus, menagerie, pandemonium, noisy, fractious, confusing and insane were all words that could happily be used to describe the Mustang household.

_All of the above was rigorously evidenced by a week of seven days that felt like seventy:_

_

* * *

_

_Monday..._

"Have you seen my waist cape?" Roy asked, poking and prodding through his sizeable closet.

"Mmm?" Riza queried through a mumble, her mouth obstructed by her toothbrush. When her husband didn't answer she strolled back out of the room to rinse off.

Roy continued to search every shelf and hanger, failing to find either one of his two waist capes. He extracted himself from the cupboard and stood back with his hands on his hips. He was going to be late.

"Riza!"

The blonde's head appeared around the door frame. "What?"

"My waist cape, where is it?"

"Where did you leave it?" She asked, stepping into the room and prying open the hamper to have a look.

Roy cast her a cheeky glance. "On my waist – _you_ took it off, _remember_?"

Riza rolled her eyes and pushed past her husband to look in the wardrobe herself.

"I've already looked in there." Roy whined, placing one hand on each of her hips as he looked past her shoulder.

"Exactly." Riza answered, systematically going through each hanger.

"Die!" A small, yet irrefutably raucous voice sounded from another room.

Roy looked at his wife then at the same time, they both withdrew their heads to stare bemusedly out the doorway.

"No, Olly! No!" Another light voice called.

There followed a few indistinguishable grunts and slaps that sounded an awful lot like a scuffle.

"What do you suppose they're doing?" Riza asked.

Roy shrugged. "If I ventured 'getting ready for school'..."

"...I would say it's good to see you haven't lost your idealistic streak." Riza finished and gave Roy's arm a playful squeeze.

"I will chop you up! Chop. You. Up!" Olly Mustang boomed, as much as he could, from down the hallway.

"Wizards don't have knives, Olly, no fair!"

"Chop, chop, chop, chop. Chop you down like a big oak tree!"

Lia's scream of protest rang through the house.

The couple started out the door and rushed to Olly's room. Roy was decidedly unimpressed with what he saw.

Olly was jabbing Lia mercilessly with a cricket bat while the small girl writhed and squealed under the assault. Both had wizard-like cloaks wrapped about their shoulders, or more properly: Roy's waist capes.

Husband and wife looked at each other and sighed.

"I'll just get one at headquarters, shall I?" Roy asked.

Riza simply smiled and shook her head before she stepped into the room to break up the fracas.

Roy leant against the doorjamb and watched with fascination as his wife performed her own particular brand of magic.

* * *

_Tuesday..._

Roy got into the habit of walking Hayate every evening when he returned from work. It was a great means for him to get some distance from the mucky politics of headquarters, and allowed him to freshen up and get energised for an evening with his kids; an undertaking that definitely required energy.

He was passing a high hedged garden on a neighbouring street when he heard a very familiar voice.

"Believe me." It said with authority. "You want this football. Real leather, new design, great play."

Roy looked at Hayate in question but the dog just puffed noisily through his nose and continued sniffing the weeds growing up through the bushes.

"Well you're no good." The man murmured to the dog.

He leant closer to the bush and putting all his training to use, stealthily cleared himself a peep hole.

A ring of about ten children were gathered round listening attentively to the speaker. Shifting to the right, Roy confirmed his suspicions as he spotted his son sitting firmly in the middle.

"How much?" A red haired boy asked, leaning forward with a cynical look on his chubby face.

"Fifty cens." Olly said, and smiled when there was uproar around him.

Roy shifted in the hedge again to get a better look. It sounded like his boy was about to get lynched for his brazen idiocy.

"Calm down." Olly's confident, raspy voice urged. "I have a plan."

An anaemic looking blond boy scoffed. "Oh yeah?"

Olly's black eyes locked onto him. "You have five cens, Jimmy?"

"Of course I do."

Olly looked at another child. "What about you, Fred?"

"Yeah."

Olly spoke while tracing invisible circles in the grass before him. "We're six, we're not babies anymore, so everyone can get their hands on five cens at least."

There was a collective murmur of agreement.

"Okay, here's the deal. For each of you who gives me just _five _cens, you'll get to own the football for a whole week. That's Saturday to Saturday."

Another chorus of interested, impressed noises bubbled from the gang of children, but there was another dark haired child who was less enthusiastic.

"Five cens doesn't buy a fifty cens football, Mustang."

Olly smirked back at the boy. "Nope, but ten _times_ five does."

There was an awed round of clapping from the circle and Olly took an insincerely humbled bow.

"Come on boys, empty your pockets, you know it's the smart choice."

The other boy still wasn't convinced and tried to shout his protestations over the noise. "But what happens to the ball after ten weeks?"

Olly stretched his arms back behind his head. "It's called pro-cure-mint."

Roy blinked in utter astonishment. His son was selling shares on the black market of a neighbour's back garden, all for the acquirement of a football after ten weeks. Although a warm, proud feeling swelled in his chest, he now harboured a fear that his son would walk straight up to him one day and declare that he wanted to be a banker. That would be truly awful.

The General's thoughts stopped abruptly as two angry eyes, topped with impressive eyebrows appeared in the hedge in front of him.

"Who the hell are you!" The eyebrows jumped wildly with the angry voice.

Roy fell onto his backside, Hayate dancing out of his way. He heard the frantic thudding of eleven small feet race over to the hedge, alerted to some action by the irate voice.

"I-" Roy panted out, shocked.

One thin arm poked through the hedge, accompanied by a hysterical accusation. "Stranger!"

Then another arm poked through, a tiny forefinger pointing at Roy's recumbent form. "Stranger!"

Soon, ten boyish arms were thrust through the abundant hedge and ten frantic voices shouted, "Stranger!"

The owner of the eyebrows was still ranting, pulling apart the hedge to get a good look at the devious, perverted stranger: one General Roy Mustang.

The only one maintaining any cool was Olly, who regarded his father with amused, darkly shining eyes.

"I'm not a stranger! I'm not! That's my son!" Roy called and pointed at Olly.

The cacophony halted and Roy heard shifting as everyone turned to face Olly for verification. The man's heart stopped when Olly's eyes widened, his arm raised and he sucked in a deep, preparatory breath.

"Stranger!" He squealed, louder than anyone else.

Roy's eyes darted to 'Eyebrows' and he shook his head violently. "I'm not. I'm not! I'm Oliver's Dad. Hi Olly!" He waved enthusiastically.

"Ah!" Olly screamed and backed away. "My name's not even Olly!"

At 11pm, Riza hung up her last phone call to the last worried parent in the neighbourhood, finally finished convincing the block that her husband was not a child crazed perfect.

"What have we learned today, husband of mine?" She asked, sitting back into Roy's lap.

"Don't spy on the kids." Roy mumbled ashamedly into her hair.

* * *

_Wednesday..._

"_Two small spots...S. P. O. T. S. Then write 'two'. Yeap. Good."_

Roy moaned and pulled himself tighter against his sleeping wife. It couldn't possibly be 6am already.

"_Subject moving. Oh! One long, squiggly scar. S. K... eh... W. I. G. G. I... em, just draw a squiggle. We'll know what it means."_

He felt soft fingers run over the thin, raised scar on his lower back.

"_One big, ugly mole. If you do bushy eyebrows above it like this, you can make it look extra uglier."_

Roy's eyes shot open and he spun around, apparently not quickly enough as two dark haired individuals thumped onto the floor, shot across the carpet and disappeared out the door to the sound of tittering.

He stretched an arm out and turned on the lamp. Beside him on the bed was a large piece of paper covered in dots, squiggles and messy writing. The top of the page read, "A Serfey of Dad's Back." Roy rubbed tiredly at his eyes and studied the survey, somewhat surprised to see a large mole-shape detailed with downward sloping, mean eyebrows above it.

"It's a birthmark." He defended, looking at the dark spot on the paper with doleful eyes.

"Roy..." A sleepy, unimpressed Riza groaned from beside him. He saw a delicate hand snake out from the blankets to check the clock. "What are you doing? It's 5am."

Roy grunted out an apology and yanked off the light before slumping back beneath the blankets; he would have to ask Riza about the mole thing later.

* * *

_Thursday..._

Riza struggled to push the key into the lock as her two young children jumped, tugged and whined at her feet. They had just come from their Grandfather's and typical to visits to Fuhrer Grumman's, they were filled to the gullet with ice-cream and lemon soda.

"Ah'm gonna pee ma pants!" Olly whinged in the strange accent he had adopted when talking about anything pertaining to the toilet.

Gracia had told her the habit was perfectly normal for children his age, a psychological distancing from socially awkward human functions, but Riza had a well trained ear for lies and knew the woman was just trying to make her feel better.

Finally, she inserted the key and had only just turned it when Lia and Olly pushed the door open eagerly with their tiny palms. Both ran forward, Olly peeling off towards the downstairs toilet and Lia tripping up the stairs clumsily to where she knew her father would be napping.

Riza closed the door with an exhausted sigh. She shook off her jacket and was just walking into the kitchen when she heard rising and falling 'woah' sounds from upstairs: one baritone, the other high pitched and punctuated with giggles. Roy should know better; ice-cream and playtime were _not_ a winning combination.

The toilet flushed and Olly emerged from the bathroom.

"Did you wash your hands?" Riza asked, her amber eyes on the lookout for a fib.

Olly's tentative 'yes' confirmed the untruth.

"Back in." Riza ordered.

The boy grumbled and stomped back into the room to wash his hands.

Riza started up the stairs, following the playful noises emanating from her bedroom. She pushed open the door and although she tried to look serious, she couldn't help but break into a silent laugh.

Roy was lying flat on his back and held Lia straight above him, the little girl's legs dangling in the air. They were both making a low, expectant 'wo' sound, staring at each other with bright, excited eyes. Then he dropped the child towards him, and the sound rose to a joyous climax. Lia kicked her legs and laughed wildly, then quieted herself to the same quiet 'wo' noise as she was hoisted in the air again.

Riza sighed and cleared her throat. Two pairs of dark eyes looked over to her.

"Hello you." Roy said lightly, a wide grin halving his face.

"Hello." Riza replied and instinctively reached behind her to cup the back of Olly's head as he joined her at her side.

Lia smiled at her mother then started making her 'wo' sound again, a cue that Roy should continue.

"I think you should probably stop now." Riza advised, running her fingers through her son's messy hair.

Roy laughed and bounced Lia, causing her low growling to bounce with her.

"She's fine, Ri." He spotted Olly. "Hi son."

Olly waved distractedly, his eyes fixed on the whitening face of his sister. He smiled sinisterly.

"Honestly, Roy. They had a lot of-"

"Stop panicking, Riza, she's fine. Aren't you, L-"

Roy didn't have a chance to finish as his daughter burped loudly and from her lofty position, emptied a stomach full of ice-cream and lemon soda all over his face.

It took several seconds for Roy to brave opening an eye.

"I-" He stopped as more foamy soup fell from Lia's slack mouth, spattering against his cheek.

Olly snickered and stoated off towards his own room, shaking his head with an amused sigh.

Roy met Lia's shocked eyes. "You didn't tell me you had ice-cream."

The girl shrugged in his grasp, her shiny black shoes still dangling out behind her.

* * *

_Friday..._

The Women's Coalition: in short, Roy hated them. However, more than the collection of pucker-faced, heavily made-up harpies, he hated Fuhrer Grumman's 'help'. He was convinced the man resented him for marrying his granddaughter, the old sod.

"He hates me." He said as Riza did up his tie, something he was considerably better at but didn't want to say. His wife was just incredibly sexy when she attended to the simple, classic act of matrimony. If she knew his vaguely misogynistic thoughts, she would almost certainly kill him.

Riza laughed and patted him on the shoulders. "He doesn't hate you. He loves you."

"If he loved me he wouldn't throw me to the lions like this every quarter."

"You're hardly being thrown to the lions, Roy." Riza said.

"I am..." Roy looked off, exaggerated danger in his eyes. "For starters, why do they need me out of uniform?"

Riza finished the knot and pulled it tight until it was almost choking him. "Because they think you have a threatening demeanour."

Roy pulled the tie loose with one finger, coughing a little. "Sure." He said dryly. "_I_ have a threatening demeanour. Besides, a senior officer like me looking after banal duties like this is absurd."

"He's helping you build a wider public profile, Roy. Anyway, it'll be good for them to meet in you in your home environment. You're a family man now. They'll see you in your natural, peaceful, totally normal surroundings." Riza assured, but she didn't sound as though she much believed what she was saying herself.

"Right." Mustang drawled, wondering if it wasn't too much to consider toppling another Fuhrer.

The meeting was hellish. The women had asked to convene in a non-military environment, and rather than Grumman suggesting the Concert Hall, National Library or Grand Hotel, he indicated that it would be wonderful for them to see Mustang's home, a listed tenement in the leafy west end of the city. The women leapt at the opportunity and as he watched them eyeball and scrutinise every single photograph and item of crockery in his dining room, Roy knew exactly why.

"Tell me General-" One woman had said, pawing at a wedding photograph. "Doesn't your wife _want _to grow her hair out? She looks awfully boyish here."

Roy raked his eyes over the sizeable paunch of the woman before he spoke. "I think it compliments her slim frame actually. Your hair's grown some since I last saw you, no?"

Now as they sat around the polished mahogany dining table, Roy couldn't help but glance nervously at the clock. Any minute now, his children would arrive back from school and that could spell disaster. Olly had a problem with concealing his opinions, and there were a lot of globular, nasty women in the room.

"All we're asking is for you to relinquish some of the park to our boules lawn. We've been over this a hundred times, General and truthfully it seems as though you're not willing to budge an inch."

Roy sighed and placed his hands flat on the table in front of him. "I'm not. That's not a _park_, it's a memorial garden and we would do well to remember that when talking so lightly about it's transformation into a bowling green of all things."

The leader of the Coalition leant forward and rested her many chins on her steepled, gaudily ringed fingers. "General, we have already motioned to the City Council that the military must volunteer some of their public ground. It's untenable that you've retained so much."

"The City Council only exists because of the efforts of those soldiers to which that memorial garden is dedicated. If our old regime was still in place, you would all still be playing bridge instead of wasting the valuable time of a senior military official who's giving audience to you under duress and on the merit that you continue to donate whatever sums of money your dead husbands left behind. For example."

Roy took a sip of water and while he should have regretted his muted outburst, he actually relished the silence that followed. The silence that was soon broken by the sound of a key in the front door. His calm went with the quiet.

"Oh, who's this General?"

Roy took a deep breath. "My family."

There was a collective round of cooing and cheering from the women, and although their faces appeared to show warm, boisterous mirth; he actually knew they couldn't wait to have a good examination of his children. They probably brought score cards with them.

"Mrs Mustang!" One of the ladies called. "Mrs Mustang!"

Roy tensed at that. "She's a Lieutenant Colonel actually. She's on annual leave-"

The grey-skinned woman to his left patted his hand. "Of course she is, dear."

Roy closed his eyes for the briefest moment to gather himself before the door pushed open to reveal his family, perfectly framed by the doorway.

There was a frightening chorus of 'aw' noises from everyone at the table. He had to admit it though, he had a sharp looking couple of kids, bedecked as they were in their snappy uniforms. Riza ushered the children into the room, Lia looking shy but determined and Olly looking totally horrified. He canted his eyes up to his mother, betrayal written into his youthful features.

"Aren't they gorgeous? So exotic and unusual! You could never tell they were Amestrian!" A woman dressed entirely in orange exclaimed. Riza's face darkened imperceptibly.

Another woman patted her knees as though beckoning a dog, hoping to get a closer look at them. Neither child moved from their place.

"Okay." Roy said, staring pointedly at Riza, using any powers of telecommunication to ask her to leave. "Well there they-"

"There's a funny smell." Olly opined suddenly, his face pinched in distaste. Lia nodded her head in agreement.

Roy laughed a little and looked bashfully at the woman to his right. "He's – they've – they're tired."

Olly swung his arms up and moved them both in great circles about him. "And they're all round like this."

Roy was sure he felt a little bit of vomit come up in his throat.

Lia tugged on her mother's arm and pointed to one particularly rotund woman. "Is she got a baby inside her?" She asked in the childlike whisper that is actually louder than talking at a regular volume.

Riza could have rescued Roy at that moment, and could quite easily have explained away, then extracted her children from the embarrassing interchange, but she had read what some of these women had said about her and her family in the press, and so she didn't really care to.

Olly stepped forward and folded his arms, looking first at the women, then at his mother. He repeated his study several times, and when Roy had gathered himself enough to call order, his son stopped him with a raising of his hand.

"How come-" He started, and Roy closed his eyes, waiting for the comment as one might wait for a tidal wave to hit. "How come, Mummy's like a little hill, like this." Olly made small, gentle shapes with his hands. "And that woman there-" He pointed at the leader of the Coalition. "Is like a great, great, great, _big_ mountain like this: woah!" He made the biggest shape he possibly could, even going so far as to stand on his tiptoes. Lia chuckled and leant into her mother's skirt in some daughter-mother act of conspiracy.

It took Roy all of twenty minutes to convince the Coalition to stay and finish their meeting. He resisted the temptation to say he didn't think he was their real father anyway. The hags never would have bought it: poxy family resemblance. Besides, if he was honest he was actually quite proud of them, regardless of the fiasco.

By the end of their meeting he had actually managed to garner some odd kind of sympathy from the women, who having seen his plight, spent the rest of their time offering him strict guidelines on parenting. Every piece of advice sounded horrific, but at least he wouldn't have to face the State accountants when thousands of cens worth of trust funds suddenly disappeared from the annual budget.

He drew the meeting to a close, thanking each one of them personally for coming to visit his family home. Holding open the dining room door for the troop of kelpies to leave, he tried his best to maintain his cool when he heard one of the women scream in the hallway.

He shouldn't have been surprised. Really, he shouldn't have.

Exiting the dining room, he saw one bloated woman swoon against another, shocked apparently, by his six year old son, naked from the waist down and performing a jive in the hall.

"Whey-hey!" The boy shouted, giving an especially vigourous twist of his hips.

Roy blanched and barely even noticed Riza rush from the kitchen and scoop the still-jiving child into her arms.

The man uttered a few unintelligible syllables and grimaced when he heard Olly's voice protest the interruption of his dancing from somewhere in the back of the house.

"But Daddy does it all the time!"

Roy met eleven pairs of eyes, or rather, Roy turned to see eleven pairs of eyes stare at his crotch, then drift up to his face.

"I wear trousers...when I do the thing."

* * *

_Saturday..._

"Why do you suppose he lies so much?" Roy asked, tossing a handful of chopped onions into the pan.

Riza looked up from the paper. "I don't know. Overactive imagination? Attention seeking maybe?"

"Like he doesn't get enough attention." He groused.

Riza cocked her head in a 'who do _you_ think you're kidding?' fashion.

"He told his teacher I died in Drachma!" Roy shouted by way of defence.

"Yes, but he did say you were swallowed whole by an ice-dragon... Ms Mercer is smarter than that."

Roy didn't say anything but stirred the sauce a little more vigourously.

* * *

_Sunday..._

Husband and wife snuggled comfortably together on the back porch, listening to the happy sounds of their children playing in the garden. Olly was 'teaching' Lia how to play football, which more or less amounted to the boy kicking a ball around his sister while she ran back and forth trying to keep up.

Neither parent realised they had dozed off until an alarmed wail sounded from down the garden. Roy was on his feet in an instant and he saw two things at once: the bright yellow football stuck high up in the huge tree, and his son dangling precariously from a branch, far off the ground.

He had never moved faster in his life. He cleared the wooden railing on the porch and shot down the garden at full tilt, passing an anxious, upset Lia.

"Olly!" He shouted but the boy continued screaming.

Positioning himself directly under his son, he called his name again. Then again. On his fourth call, Olly finally answered with a distraught, "Daddy!"

"Olly, I'm right underneath you. You're okay. You're safe Olly." Roy licked his lips. "I need you to let go."

"No!" Olly squealed, terrified, and kicked his legs while struggling to keep his grip.

Riza joined Roy at his side with Lia weeping softly against her.

"Olly. Olly! Look at me. Look at Dad. Can you do that?" He asked as slowly and as calmly as he could, but in truth he felt like he was about to have heart failure. If Olly had fallen from that height...

The boy adjusted his grip and stretched so he could meet his father's eyes, his breath hitching with upset.

"I'm your _Dad_, Olly, I'll catch you-" He was interrupted when another panicked burst of crying rang from the child. Olly clenched his eyes shut and tried to pull himself up onto the branch but the effort only served to loosen his fingers more.

"I'm not going to let you get hurt, Oliver. I promise. Trust me. I'll catch you. I'll catch you, Olly."

The crying quieted once more and Olly turned back to his father, far, far beneath him. He sniffed and tried to catch his breath.

"Promise?" He asked meekly.

Roy smiled and held his arms aloft. "I promise, son. Come on. Just let go. I'm here, Olly."

The boy looked back at the branch once then nodded. He shut his eyes, took a shuddering breath and uncurled his fingers. The drop was a moment of invigorating horror for all four of them.

Roy caught his son without any looseness or room for error. He held onto him as strongly as he could without suffocating him, breathing noisily against the boy's scalp. Olly bawled with renewed vigour and fisted his hands into Roy's hair and shirt. Seeing her brother safe but upset, Lia tugged at Riza's hand to be picked up also.

The soldiers-come-parents, well accustomed to moments of drama, exchanged a look they hadn't shared in a very long time. One that said they were safe, that everything would be okay.

"Daddy!" Olly wailed again and clung fast to his father's strong body. If he weren't so unsettled, he would have heard Roy's heartbeat thumping feverishly in his chest.

That night, Olly asked only for his Dad to tuck him into bed. As Roy pulled up the blanket, Olly stopped his hand. There was a shameful look in the boy's eyes as he refused to meet his father's.

"Sorry, Dad." He said quietly, some fresh tears springing to his eyes.

Roy laughed and pushed back the boy's dark fringe. "_Olly... _Why are you apologising?"

The boy sniffed. "For crying."

Roy stopped playing with his son's hair and used the same hand to tilt the boy's face towards him. "That's nothing to be sorry for."

"It _is_!" Olly blurted out. "The red fat one says you're the bravest man he knows: that you never get scared and you never cry."

Red fat one? Roy smiled. "Breda?"

Olly nodded, the action freeing a fat tear from his eye. Roy wiped it away with his thumb. "Well, he's wrong. I've cried lots of times. I almost cried today."

"_When?_" Olly asked, doubt evident in his tone.

"When I saw my looper of a son dangling from a 25ft tree."

Olly's sharp eyes closed slightly as he considered this and after a moment of reflection, he seemed to accept it.

"Because you were scared?" He asked.

"Yeap." Roy answered.

"More scared than when I said you were a stranger and Mr Urquhart chased you away with a rake?"

Roy laughed and held his thumb and forefinger only a hair's breadth apart. "By about this much."

Olly giggled lightly, then more forcefully, then wildly as Roy dug his fingers into his sides, tickling him ruthlessly.

Riza passed the doorway and paused, watching her boys scrap with each other on the bed. She looked back and blew a kiss through the open door towards Lia's bed, and could just about see the little girl return the gesture from the darkened room.

* * *

Bedlam, circus, menagerie, pandemonium, noisy, fractious, confusing and insane were all words that could happily be used to describe the Mustang household, and they wouldn't change it for the world.

* * *

aaaaw. :) ta for reading chaps!


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